The Emerald Scepter

by Paul Kemprecos

  She popped out and headed straight for the figure in black twenty feet away. She aimed right for his crotch. He stepped aside in panic, avoiding the oncoming Harley, but Sutherland heard a satisfying yelp of pain when the handlebar slapped his mid-section.

  She held the handlebars tight to keep from losing control and gunned the engine, steering to the top of the long dirt driveway that led to the road. She could feel the heat from the blaze and heard what sounded like corn popping. Gunshots. She snapped her lights off, but knew that she was still a clear target in the light of the flames. She ducked her head low over the handlebars.

  Sutherland knew every turn in the driveway and made it down to the road in seconds. The bike gained speed, flying along the winding country road at nearly seventy miles an hour. She slowed at the highway on-ramp, unsure whether to head north or south.

  A line of blinking lights could be seen headed south from the direction of Green Valley. The police must have called in reinforcements. She killed the Harley’s lights and pulled off the road.

  Two police cars and a border patrol SUV went racing by. She rode out onto the highway heading south. The cool desert air felt good on her heated forehead. She was pushing the bike at the top of its limits, when it dawned on her that she had no idea where she was going. Ahead of her was the Mexican border. Nogales. Back the other way was Phoenix.

  After riding a few more miles she turned off the highway and headed southeast.

  When she arrived in Tombstone, the tourists were still in bed and it was too early for the stage coach rides or the reenactment of the gunfight at the OK Corral site. She passed the office of the Tombstone Epitaph, and cruised past the old brothel and gambling house known as the Bird Cage back in Wyatt Earp’s day. The rumble of the motorcycle exhaust echoed off the false-front old buildings.

  A coffee shop was opening its doors. Inside were a couple of people in 1800s costumes who worked for the western shows. No one seemed bothered by the young woman biker with the dirty face and the wild look in her eyes. She cleaned the dirt off her pudgy cheeks and her hands in the bathroom and when she came out, bought a large coffee and blueberry muffin. She felt better after a few sips of coffee. But she was still in shock over the destruction of her house.

  It was no coincidence that the attack came within twenty-four hours of her internet fishing expedition.

  She remembered the squared mouth and gapped front teeth of the leader as he prepared to destroy the first painting. He had deliberately exposed his face.

  As impossible as it seemed, she had to accept the evidence of her own eyes.

  This was not the first time the gapped-toothed man had violated her.

  A glazed expression came to her eyes.

  Someone was going to pay for this.

  And she knew exactly who it would be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The river bed wasn’t quite the superhighway Rashid had described.

  The pock-marked wash wound its way between lofty red cliffs and a steep rock-studded ridge. It was paved with loose stones for several miles before the old river bottom turned to sand and gravel. Calvin was eager to use the extra horsepower he had added to the DPV’s engine. When the wheels rolled onto the smoother surface, he kicked the vehicle up to a higher speed.

  His lead foot almost caused a disaster.

  The vehicle skittered around a blind curve. A boulder that had broken off from the cliffs lay directly in the buggy’s path. The rock was about six feet across and stuck out only a foot or so from the ground. It was shaped like an iceberg, with a sharp peak at the top that could have easily ripped through the vehicle’s underside.

  The DPV was going too fast to stop. Calvin jerked the steering wheel in a half turn then yanked it back the other way to keep from smashing into an even bigger rock. The vehicle was top-heavy from the weight of equipment and passengers but somehow defied the laws of physics and stayed upright throughout the tight S-turn.

  Calvin mashed the brake pedal and brought the vehicle to a halt. He glanced in his rear-view mirror. Hawkins and Abby were still perched on top of the submersible. They would have been thrown from the vehicle if Hawkins had not tied a nylon rope around the cargo rack for a hand hold.

  “Sorry about the slalom run,” Calvin said. “Everyone okay back there?”

  Hawkins rubbed his neck. “Nothing like whiplash to get the blood rushing. Yeah, I’m fine. How about you, Abby?”

  Abby removed her baseball cap. Wild strands of hair dangled over her forehead. She swore with the gusto of an angry pirate and slapped the cap against her knee, sending up a cloud of dust that triggered a coughing fit.

  Hawkins handed her a canteen. “I’ll translate Abby’s answer, Cal. She wants to say how happy she is to have ignored my advice and volunteered for this mission.”

  Abby gulped down water and then thrust the canteen back.

  “Screw you, Hawkins!”

  Her abrupt answer triggered another round of coughing. Hawkins handed back the canteen and advised everyone to take a stretch. He slipped off the back of the vehicle, used the “do-rag” around his head to wipe the dust from his eyes and checked the bungee straps holding the submersible in place. Fido seemed happily nestled in its bed of plastic foam.

  Hawkins craned his neck to examine the face of the hill across from the cliffs. It was around eighty feet high, rising at a forty-five degree angle from the river bed. He asked Calvin to keep an eye on the vehicle, giving an almost imperceptible jerk of his head toward Rashid who sat on the ground with his back to a tire, lighting a cigarette.

  “Let’s go for a walk, Abby.”

  Hawkins went to the base of the slope, wrapped his hands around a rocky knob, stuck his toe into a horizontal crack in the rock face and began to climb up the steep hill. The bolts that held his shattered left leg together worked well enough, but his joints tended toward stiffness, even in the dry Afghan climate. The cuts on his hand were healing but his palm was still tender.

  He could have sent Calvin up the hill, but he didn’t want to admit to the slightest weakness, especially in front of Abby. He took his time, and although his progress was neither fast nor graceful, it was steady.

  Abby had competition knotted into every strand of her DNA. She’d excelled in school sports, including traditional male ones like hockey, and had racked up an impressive record as an honor roll student. She continued to strive for first place as she blazed her way through Annapolis, and quickly advanced through the naval ranks after graduation. So it was natural for her to attempt to catch up with Hawkins and beat him to the top of the ridge.

  She placed her right foot firmly on a rock outcropping, intending to use the hard muscles of her thigh to vault her body and outstretched arm closer to a hand-hold that was at the extreme end of her reach. She would have floated up the side of the steep hill like a milkweed seed if she had not glanced up at Hawkins.

  His right leg and arms were strong, but the injuries to his left leg put him at a disadvantage. When his left foot slipped off a rock the stiffness in his leg prevented him from a quick save. He lost his footing, and dug his fingers into the gravel. Only a Herculean effort prevented him from slipping back down to Abby’s level.

  She stopped climbing and held her breath as she watched Hawkins pull himself higher, remembering his steely determination when he was recovering from his physical and psychological wounds. There was no self-pity, but she had been hurt by his refusal to ask for her help. She realized later that what he really needed was not a helping hand, but understanding. When he’d unleashed his anger against the navy, she went on the defensive. After all, she was facing difficulties enough as a woman in the navy and didn’t need a husband attacking the institution that was going to be her life.

  Only after their divorce and her decision to leave the navy could she admit to herself that she simply wasn’t there for him in his time of need.
That’s why she wasn’t quitting on him now. She’d been kidding herself, saying that she had signed on to cure Matt of his obsession, but the real reason, despite her disclaimer on the flight from the U.S.A., was to expunge her guilt. She was in this mission to the very end.

  She saw that Matt had almost reached the top of the ridge. She took a deep breath and began to climb.

  Hawkins helped her up the last few feet. Abby puffed out her cheeks and leaned on his shoulder.

  “You’re a hard act to follow.”

  Hawkins knew the gesture and comment were subtle attempts to cloak his obvious physical limitations. He didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased, so he changed the subject.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said.

  “That’s an understatement. It looks so….tortured.”

  The satellite photos and the contour lines on the chart hadn’t done the surrounding countryside justice. The cool air was clear as fine crystal and as far as the eye could see, the landscape was creased and furrowed with ravines and gullies. In the distance, painfully sharp peaks raked the clear blue sky.

  Abby said in an awestruck voice, “I think the chopper made a mistake and landed us on Mars.”

  “We’re looking at what happens when continents collide. You get jumbled up pieces of tectonic crust separated by fault zones. The bedrock under Afghanistan is like a big jigsaw puzzle.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You never cease to impress, Hawkins. Was geology part of your SEAL training?”

  “Survival was. If you plan to stay alive in unfriendly country it helps to know the territory above and below the surface, especially if you’re chasing the bad guys in tunnels and caves.” He turned away from the panorama and looked into her face. “Sorry about the translation wisecrack, Abby.”

  “Don’t be. I’m a big girl and shouldn’t be whining because my hair gets all mussed up.”

  “Your hair looks fine. Just to set the record straight, and for what it’s worth, I’m glad you came along.”

  “Coming from you, it’s worth a lot.” She glanced down the hill at Rashid. “Can’t say the same for Ali Babba down there. Guy’s creepy smile gives me the shivers.”

  Hawkins too had taken an instinctive dislike of Rashid. The guide’s sly expression and fawning manner made Hawkins uneasy, but he had said nothing because as the leader of the mission he had to support unit cohesion.

  “So he’s not exactly Mr. Personality, but he was right about the old river bed,” he said with a sweep of his arm. “If we had tried to go cross-country we’d have fallen into a deep hole.”

  “This isn’t much better,” Abby grumbled.

  “In my experience, there’s no beating first-hand knowledge.”

  He started to make his way down the hill with Abby following. Back on level ground, they went over to where Calvin was leaning against the desert vehicle.

  “How far have we gone, Cal?”

  “Around eight miles from the LZ. Pitiful.”

  “Two and a half miles an hour isn’t going to get us far,” Hawkins said. “Let’s light a fire under our rent-a-guide.” He walked around the vehicle. “Looks like you were right about the river bed being the only way to go, Rashid.”

  The Afghan spread his lips in an I-told-you-so smile and went to light another cigarette, but Hawkins took the pack from his hand and tucked it back into Rashid’s vest pocket. The guide’s surprised expression turned to a glower when Hawkins ordered him to give up his seat to Abby and sit on the back.

  “I can direct the way better from the front.”

  Hawkins pointed out that since the river bed was the only navigable route, there was no need to sit up front. “I’ll keep you company,” he offered.

  Rashid made no further protest, but Hawkins noticed the fleeting expression of hatred in the man’s eyes. All the more reason to keep close watch on him.

  They started off again. Miraculously, the road improved after a mile or so. Fewer boulders blocked their path, and those they did encounter were smaller. Sand had washed down from the cliffs and covered most of the obstacles.

  Calvin cautiously picked up speed. The DPV flew along at around forty miles per hour, but that ended when Calvin shouted a warning.

  “Everybody hold on!”

  He touched the brakes to avoid throwing the vehicle into a spin and brought them to a skidding stop. Hawkins slid off the back of the vehicle. He came around to the front and saw that a massive section of cliff had fallen into the riverbed forming a twenty-foot landslide of earth and rocks that blocked their way as effectively as a castle wall.

  Hawkins turned to Rashid who had also dismounted to see why they were stopped.

  “Our super highway could use some maintenance work,” Hawkins said.

  “This is new since I was here,” Rashid said. He sounded genuinely nonplussed.

  “How long ago was that, Rash?” Calvin said in his slow, Louisiana drawl.

  “Maybe ten years,” Rashid said.

  “You know another way out of here?” Hawkins said.

  Rashid answered with a vigorous shake of his bald head. “We have to turn around.”

  Abby batted Hawkins’ earlier words back at him, “Like they say, there’s nothing like local know-how.”

  Hawkins shrugged. “Actually, sometimes there is something better.”

  He removed the GPS unit from its dashboard holder and retrieved the topographical map that had been tucked in between the front seats. The GPS had been developed for the U.S. military. Unlike the commercial sets available in any electronics store, the GPS did not display a map, nor did it have a woman’s voice telling the driver when to turn. It was used to plot how to get to grid locations on a separate paper map.

  Hawkins unrolled the map and spread it out on the engine compartment. The combination map and satellite photo showed the meandering river bed had once been fed by a number of tributaries.

  “This is a dendritic river drainage system,” Hawkins said. “It’s fed by all these tributaries that look like the branches of a tree. We’re on one of these feeders now. If we get off this riverbed, and connect with another branch we can follow it to the trunk of the tree, which is the main river and leads into the flood plain where the lake is located.”

  Abby swept her arm around in an arc. “Too bad we can’t fly out of here.”

  “You were in the regular navy too long, Abby. We SEALs don’t see problems. We see challenges. Isn’t that right, Cal?”

  “Bigger the better, Hawk.” He wrinkled his brow. “So what are we going to do, man?”

  Hawkins shook his head. “Damned if I know.”

  Seeing she was being taken for a ride, Abby said, “This is great. Stuck out here in the wilds of Afghanistan with an all-boy act from Comedy Central.” She spun on her heel. “I’m going to have breakfast. You two geniuses can let me know when you figure it out. Hopefully, before it gets dark.”

  She brushed by Rashid, got back into the dune buggy and started munching on a power bar.

  “Lady’s got a point,” Calvin said.

  “She doesn’t understand that our boyish bantering has a purpose.”

  “Yeah. Gives us some stall time while we figure things out.”

  “Exactly.”

  Hawkins reached for the nylon line on the back of the desert vehicle. He started to wind it into a butterfly coil that could be carried hands-free. Calvin guessed what Hawkins had in mind. The two men had worked as a team so many times that they knew instinctively what the other was thinking and had an iron-bound trust in each other’s judgment. They could joke about their situation because he knew, from past experience, that they would always come up with a solution. The scheme might be shaky, hastily improvised, risky and heavily dependent on good fortune, but at least it would be a plan.

  Hawkins pointed to the hill. “I’d appreciate
it if you could do the honors, Cal. We gimps don’t do well on near vertical surfaces.”

  Cal took the coiled rope and tied the free ends around his body like the straps of a backpack. He scaled the hillside and disappeared over the top of the ridge, then popped out again. He waved down and called Hawkins on the hand radio,

  “Looks like a go.”

  Hawkins got in the desert vehicle and drove it to face the slope. He got out and Calvin tossed the rope down. He tied the line to a loop in the Kevlar cable wound around a motorized drum on the front of the dune buggy, and then worked the winch controls. As the drum turned, Calvin pulled the cable up by the rope and vanished over the ridge a second time. He reappeared and called down on the radio.

  “Ready, Hawk.”

  Hawkins turned to Abby, who was still in the passenger seat. “You may want to get out of the buggy.”

  She stared at Hawkins. “You’re not really going to try this.”

  “We have no choice, Abby. It will be dark in a few hours. Our mission is to find the treasure. Going back is not an option.”

  Abby had often seen the stubborn set of Hawkins’ jaw when they were still man and wife. Any attempt to dissuade him would be like waving a feather at a charging bull.

  Hawkins got in the driver’s seat, started the engine, threw the transmission into neutral, beeped the horn once to give Calvin a head’s up, and activated the winch.

  The front wheels rose a few inches off the ground. When the tires were about a foot in the air, he gave the winch more power. The wheels touched the side of slope and began to climb. Soon, the rear wheels were on the rock as well.

  Hawkins kept a tight grip on the steering wheel, shifted into low and applied enough pressure to the accelerator to take the strain off the cable. The vehicle proceeded to inch its way up the slope, getting delayed only once when it got hung up on a half-buried rock, and twenty minutes later it was resting on top of the ridge. Hawkins got out and Calvin slapped him on the back.